


The Cursed Child: Redrafted

by HeidiBug731



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Book: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Canon Rewrite, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiBug731/pseuds/HeidiBug731
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fatherhood isn't easy for Harry Potter. The gap between him and Albus widens with each passing year. At work, rumors of Voldemort siring a child refuse to die. Beyond, a second generation of Death Eaters is rising. This is a rewrite of The Cursed Child with a more canonical focus, without the crazy time travel, and a greater emphasis on family drama and bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Definite spoilers for "The Cursed Child" if you have not read it.

\-- **Year One** \--

Albus Severus Potter has never felt more relieved nor more disappointed as the Sorting Hat places him in Gryffindor.

Of course, the Hat would chose Gryffindor. His fears of landing in Slytherin were unfounded. Yet, as he approaches the Gryffindor table and glances back at Scorpius Malfoy, his only friend, he can't help but feel…

Maybe Sytherin wouldn't have been so bad.

He takes a seat at the table of scarlet and gold and accepts the slap on the back from a third year. But he can't force a smile.

Across the table, his older brother, James, put his fingers in his mouth and sticks out his tongue, wiggling it at him.

Albus looks down at his empty plate, so finely polished it reflects his dismal face.

Gryffindor, the house of his father, the house of his older brother. How could he possibly fit in here among them? Two giants, surrounded by fame, basking in it. They belong here. He doesn't.

He looks back at the stool where a young girl waits as the Sorting Hat lowers to her head.

Can he take it back? Is it too late? What might the Sorting Hat say if it could read his thoughts now?

* * *

The broom under his hand refuses to rise. “Up! Up, you stupid thing!”

But it just lays there in the grass, mocking him. The other students laugh. They've all managed to summon their brooms to their hand.

He's glad his untidy hair covers his burning ears. _Stupid broom. Stupid school._

“Come on, Albus,” says Scorpius, a few students down the line from him. “You can do it!”

He thinks of his brother, whose broom reportedly came to his hand on his first try. When Madam Hooch blew her whistle, he rose into the air and flew circles around his classmates. A natural, just like their father.

Albus kicks the broom, making it bounce. He doesn't care anymore if he ever figures out how to make it rise off the ground.

* * *

\-- **Year Two** \--

It strikes him one breakfast, as he glances at Scorpius sitting at the Slytherin table and wishes he could be there with him, that there are no rules stating a student has to sit with their house. In fact, there are no labels or signs at any table designating it belongs to one house or another. Younger students simply follow the older ones, blindly falling into an order that was never mandated.

Albus glances around the room, at the other tables and head table, wondering if they can all hear his thoughts. Would anyone try to stop him?

There's only one way to find out.

He picks up his plate and marches over to the Slytherin table. No one pays him any mind at first, then the noise in the hall dims to a hush.

Albus ignores them and keeps his eyes fixed on his friend, who grins widely and slides down the bench to make room.

The Slytherins glare daggers at him as he takes a seat. He's a Potter and a Gryffindor, after all. But Scorpius gives him a slap on the back, and that's all that matters.

They tuck into their meal, and the din of hall rises again.

He should have known that wouldn't be the end of it.

Back in Gryffindor Tower, his classmates stare him down, led by his older brother.

“Shrewed Slytherin!” He taunts. “Shifty Slytherin!”

Albus pushes by them, heading for the stairs.

“Why don't you join them if you like them so much?”

“Someone get me the Sorting Hat, and I will!” he shouts down the stairs before slamming the dormitory door behind him.

His eyes take in the red hanging curtains, and it makes him sick. He strides to his bed, and yanks. When they won't come down, he uses a severing charm - the first time he's been able to do it - and rips them from their rings, leaving scarlet tatters hanging. He throws the curtains to the floor and stomps them with his feet.

They shine back at him, as red and pristine as ever. He wishes he knew a spell to make them change color.

He doesn't belong here. He never belonged here.

* * *

Albus excels in Potions. He _relishes_ it.

Ever since he heard his father didn't do well in it, that James flounders in it, he pushes himself to be the best, to claim this one thing for himself that no one else has.

Their potion bubbles an ugly grey-green.

“What do we need?” asks his classmate, a boy with brown hair and freckles.

Albus skims his Potions book. “Crushed bicorn horn.”

He weighs the ingredient and adds it. Then he stirs twice, counter clockwise. The potion turns a perfect bubblegum pink.

His classmate beams and claps, then remembers he's not supposed to be happy at being paired with the outcast and collects himself.

* * *

\-- **Year Three** \--

“They're looking at me, Al. Not you.”

Albus shifts, moving a little further from his father. It's not who they're starring at, it's _that_ they're starring, that his dad tolerates it, that James has a penchant for it.

“Slinking Slytherin!” James taunts as he rushes toward the Hogwarts Express with his school trunk.

“That's enough, James,” his dad says.

But James doesn't listen. He never listens. He reels himself in in front of their parents, but once they're gone it's always a different story.

“Maybe try making some more friends this year,” his father suggests.

Albus sighs. His dad just doesn't get it.

* * *

Albus hates Hogsmeade. The shops are pleasant enough, and he might actually enjoy the small town if he could visit on his own. But the streets are packed with Hogwarts students – students who think him the weirdest kid in school for defying his own house and preferring the company of Slytherin.

He doesn't care what they think. They aren't why he's here.

His friend wonders the shops, heavy eyes traveling the length of the shelving. But Albus doubts he's actually looking at anything.

The Head of Slytherin house pressured Scorpius into going, said it might do him some good to explore a new environment, to find a retreat from the grief of his mother's passing.

But it seems clear Hogsmeade isn't much of a retreat as Scorpius face scrunches, struck by some thought or memory. He looks down at the floor, taking deep breaths to collect himself.

Albus lays an arm across his friend's shoulders. “Ready to go?”

Scorpius nods, not looking up from the floor, and Albus steers him out of the shop and down the street.

He doesn't need Hogsmead. He doesn't even need Hogwarts. This right here, him and his best friend, this is all in the world that matters.


	2. The Auror

Theodore Nott sat in a simple wooden chair at a similar table. He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head. His black hair hung in frizzy strands along the side of his face. When he smiled, he revealed two front teeth slightly larger than the rest. With his beady eyes and thin frame, he had an overall rabbit like appearance.

Harry Potter sat in a chair opposite of Nott. He placed his elbows on the table and threaded his fingers together. “You want to tell me what you were doing in that clearing?”

Nott never dropped his cocky composure. “Family reunion.”

“At night? In cloaks?”

Nott yawned. “It's of no business to you if my family likes to frolic in the twilight.”

“If it was so innocent, why did everyone run?”

“Not everyone did.”

Harry had the cut on his cheek to prove it.

“Besides,” Not grinned. “It'd be quite embarrassing for some families to learn their relatives enjoyed moonlight frolicking, don't you think?”

Harry reached across the table and opened a tin of butter cookies. He offered it to Nott. “Have a biscuit.”

Nott blinked. His grin vanished. “What?”

Harry shook the container at him. “Have a biscuit.”

Nott eyed the cookies like he thought they might be laced with veritaserum. “No, thank you.”

“Fine,” said Harry. “I'll have one.” He sat down the container and popped a cookie into his mouth.

Nott lowered his hands and sat up straight his chair, the legs hitting the floor with a soft _thunk_.

Harry had to stop himself from smiling. This biscuit trick was a surprisingly successful method at catching people off guard, perfect for steering interrogations back in the right direction. Courtesy of Professor McGonagall, though she didn't know it.

“The Ministry has noticed the increased activity from those who may still desire to take up Voldemort's cause. And these rumors of Voldemort having a child.”

Nott shook his head. “I wouldn't know anything about that.”

“Of course you wouldn't.” Harry stood, pushing back his chair and placing his palms on the table. He towered over Nott. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, I might not be able to _prove_ what you were doing in that clearing. But I can promise you, I will bring down the full force of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement upon you and those of your _family_ who try to reignite a war in Voldemort's name.”

Nott smiled, revealing his rabbity teeth once again. “And let me promise you something, Harry Potter. The Augury will rise, and when that happens, you and _your_ family will be the first to suffer.”

* * *

"The Augury will rise?” Hermione Granger looked up from the report in her hand.

“Do you know what that means?” Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. “The augury is a black, vulture-like bird. Also known as the Irish Phoenix. It cries before it rains.”

Harry stared at her. “So...”

“A metaphor? Nott's saying a storm is coming?” She looked to Harry for agreement.

He could only shrug. “Your guess is better than mine.”

Hermione sighed and gave a wave of her wand. The report soared into the air and into a filing tray at the end of her desk. She rubbed between her eyes. “I wish we could get some lead into who this child is supposed to be.”

“Don't tell me you believe that rubbish?”

“No, I agree with your assessment. But there still has to be someone they're parading around as Voldemort's heir. Otherwise it's an empty rallying cry. Sooner or later, people are going to expect to see what they're being promised. There has to be someone.”

“Maybe they haven't chosen yet.” A child with the wrong lineage would be just as detrimental as not having a child at all.

“Maybe.” Hermione agreed. “And Nott?”

“We'll try to charge him with whatever we can. But,” Harry sighed. “He'll probably be paying a fine and going home.”

Hermione nodded, then touched her check. “You might want to take care of that.”

Harry touched his fingers to where she'd indicated and the wound burned. He'd forgotten about it. “I'll put some dittany on it.”

“Do you mind doing some of your paperwork while you're at it?”

Harry groaned.

Hermione gestured at the substantial pile of parchment on her desk. “Even the Minister for Magic has to do her paperwork.”

“Yeah, but you _like_ paperwork.”

“I like being _organized_.” She shook her head. “Believe me, some days I wish I was out there with you.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “It's hard to feel like you're making a difference in the world when endless paperwork and quarrelsome meetings is all you have to show for it.”

“You are changing the world,” Harry said. “You're the best Minister for Magic there's ever been.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even yourself.”

* * *

A knock came on the open door to Harry's office. Draco Malfoy stood on the threshold, his robes sleek and black. He wore his blonde hair slicked back over his head and tied into a ponytail that only just passed his shoulders.

“I received your owl,” he said.

Harry looked up from the paperwork he was attempting to complete for Hermione's sake. “We apprehended Theodore Nott this morning in a gathering we believe of a new generation of Death Eaters. He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?”

“ _Was_ ,” Draco replied.

Harry nodded. “These rumors of Voldemort having a child - we believe they're a significant cause in the recent surge of activity among those who would follow Voldemort.” He pushed a roll of parchment in Draco's direction. “We need names for who might be willing or prestigious enough to claim their child as Voldemort's.”

Draco remained in the doorway, eying the parchment with a suspicion similar to Nott's gaze at the butter cookies. “My connections are not what they used to be.”

“Yet you _have_ connections.”

“Don't you have a list of the most wanted Death Eaters you could use?”

“We do,” Harry admitted. “But an insider's viewpoint, or someone who used to be an insider, would be more efficient.”

Draco sighed. He walked to Harry's desk and picked up the parchment and a quill. “I can do this anonymously? This won't be traced back to me?”

“You could close the door and write with your left hand if you're worried about it.” Harry nearly laughed out loud when Draco did just that.

“You don't think he really had a child, do you?” Draco asked from the chair where sat, a quill poised above the parchment.

“Do _you?_ ” Harry asked.

“It's hard to imagine, but I suppose… it's possible. I mean, assuming a nose was the only bit missing.”

“Voldemort did not have a child.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Harry sighed. “Because Voldemort's plan, his life's work, was to live forever. When he only needed to create one horcrux, he made seven and from impossible artifacts. He didn't expect anyone to trace his footsteps and find them all, let alone destroy them. He thought himself invincible. And even if, let's say, for a moment he thought maybe things wouldn't work out, who would he choose? No one was an equal to him. Even his most loyal and ardent Death Eaters were beneath him. How could he ever see anyone as worthy of being with him in that way? And how could a child, even his own, measure up to his own greatness? He was too full of himself, too arrogant to create a child as a back up plan.”

Draco blinked. “We'll that's the most definitive argument I've ever heard.”

“Thank you!” said Harry, throwing up his hands.

“Rumors giving you trouble around the department?”

“You would not believe or the owls we receive accusing someone of being said child.” Harry shook his head and returned to his paperwork.

For a while, the only sound in the office was the scratching of the men's quills.

“I don't know how helpful this is,” Draco said as he stood.

“It will narrow the field,” Harry told him as he took the parchment. “It's helpful.”

“You'll burn it when you're done?”

Harry chuckled. “Sure.”

“I'm serious, Potter.”

“It will be done. I promise.”

“And you might want to get that looked at.”

Harry cursed and rummaged through his desk drawer for the bottle of dittany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to hint at something that's not actually part of the story. So, in case there is any question, the rumors of Scorpius being Voldemort's child do not exist. They never happened. It's not a factor at all in anyone's mind (because it's dumb).


	3. Broken Prospects

Albus double checked and triple checked the contents of his trunk. He had his books, his school robes, his potion ingredients… what was he missing? There was always something. And that nagging forgetful feeling wouldn't go away.

A knock came on his bedroom door, and Al turned as his father peeked his head around the door. “All packed?”

“I think so.” Al ran through his mental list again.

“Well, you can always owl home if you forget anything.”

“I _know_.” He hated he always had to owl home. He should be a pro at this by now.

His father came fully through the door. He held a thickly folded piece of parchment in his hands. He crossed the length of Albus' room to the bed where he sat and patted the space next to him. Albus sighed and joined him.

“I know returning to Hogwarts isn't something you look forward to,” his father started. “And I know making friends doesn't come easy.”

Albus resisted the urge to sigh again. He'd heard this speech every year since his second-year return to Hogwarts.

“You're extremely bright, Al,” his father continued. “You could really excel at your classes if you chose to apply yourself. You could make more friends if you-”

“I have a friend,” Albus interjected. “His name is Scorpius.”

“And that's great, Al,” his father said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But you never talk about anyone else at school-”

“Who says I need anyone else?”

“Al, it's not good to isolate yourself. You need to meet new people, try new experiences.”

“What if I'm happy the way I am?”

“Al-”

“Are we done? Because I know this lecture by heart and can give it to myself, thanks.”

His father pursed his lips. An uneasy silence fell.

Albus didn't care if he'd made his father uncomfortable. He just wanted to go back to reviewing his trunk.

His father sighed. “It may surprise you, but I got up to plenty of trouble in my time at Hogwarts.”

“No, you didn't.”

“I did,” his father insisted. “History books tend to gloss over some of the details. You can ask Headmistress McGonagall if you don't believe me. Anyway, it's your forth year, and I thought it was time I gave you this.” He held up the parchment.

“You want to give more school supplies?” Al asked, confused.

“No. This is something different.” He raised his wand and tapped it to the parchment. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” Ink sprawled from his father's wand tip into an intricate map.

“Whoa!” Al took the map and looked it over. “This is Hogwarts! That's the Headmistress' office!” He pointed.

His father nodded. “I gave James his invisibility cloak last year – when I thought he was ready for it. And I thought this year, I should do the same and pass something onto you.”

Albus gripped the map tighter. “You used this at school?”

His father nodded. “Got into quite a bit of trouble for it, too.”

Albus handed the map back to him. “I don't want it.”

His father blinked. “What?”

“It's yours. You take it.”

“It's a gift, Al. I want you to have it.”

“Well, I don't want it.” He shook the map at his father.

His father stood, leaving the bed. “How about I leave it here, and you can think about it?”

“I don't want to think about it!”

His father continued toward the door. “You don't have to take it with you, just look it over.”

“No! You aren't listening to me!”

"I am, Al. I just think-"

Albus placed both hands on the map and ripped it in half. The ink on it spilled from it's ripped edges and onto the carpet.

His father's eyes widened in horror. “ _Albus!_ ”

He threw the pieces of parchment to the floor. “There! Now will you leave me alone?"

James stuck his head through the open door. "Is stinky Slytherin causing problems again?"

“James!” their father chided.

Albus clenched his fists at his side. Was it too much to ask for some piece and quiet? First his father and now James. He was not going to take this anymore.

He strode across the room, flung his bedroom door open, and punched his brother on the nose. There was a _crack_.

James cried out and clutched his nose, blood dripping between his fingers.

“ _Albus!_ ” His father grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him away from James. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“What's wrong with me?” Albus shouted. “What's wrong with you? How do you get off letting him talk to me like that?”

His father shook his head. “This is  _not_ how we resolve issues in this family.”

“Well, maybe I don't want to _be_ in this family!”

“Go to your room!”

“I'm _in_ my room! You get out of it!”

His father blinked, then backed out the door. “This is not over, young man.”

“It never is!” Albus slammed the door after him.

He could hear his brother's hysterical voice on the other side. “Al broke my nose! _He broke my nose!_ ”

* * *

Harry sat at the kitchen table standing over what was left of the Marauder’s Map. Al had pushed the ink stained pieces under his door while he'd tended to James. Harry had tried every spell he could think of, but the Map remained lifeless and useless.

“Everyone's settled down finally, and in bed,” said Ginny as she approached him. “James' nose is as good as new, though he's still shaken up.”

Harry shook his head. “I don't know how to fix this.”

Ginny stood beside him, and her husband put an arm around her as they stared down at the Map. “Al has always been a sensitive boy.”

“Too sensitive, maybe,” Harry said.

“But he is who he is, and we need to understand that.”

Harry sighed. “I worry about him. I worry about how he treats his classes, how he interacts with other students.”

“You mean Scorpius?”

“We've never met him, Ginny. We don't know anything about him.”

“Al speaks highly of him.”

“That's not a comfort when I'm concerned about Al's judgment.”

“You think Draco Malfoy's son is influencing him?”

“I don't know what to think. I don't know why he acts this way. James and Lily have never acted out like this.”

“Like I said, he's very sensitive.”

Silence fell between them, and their attention returned to the Map.

“Maybe Hermione would have some suggestions,” Ginny tried.

“Frankly, I think Hermione has enough on her plate.”

At length Ginny sighed and pulled away. “If anything good has come from this, James may have finally gained some respect for his little brother.”

Harry looked up at her. “Is Al right? Have we let James get away with too much?”

Ginny shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe.”

Harry sighed and looked down at the Map. “I wish I had a guidebook for this stuff.”

“No one said parenting was easy.” She stepped closer to him. “I'll ask mum. She must have some words of wisdom from raising a household of boys.” She placed her hand on her husband's. “I'm sorry, Harry. I know how much the Map meant to you.”

Harry ran his hand over his tired eyes. “It's not just about the Map.”

“I know,” she told him. “I worry about Albus too.”


	4. The Jump

The Potter family rode their rental car to King's Cross Station. James and Albus sat in the back seat with Lily between them. There was very little conversation.

When they arrived, their mother put the car in park and turned in her seat. "Lily, step out of the car. We need to have a talk with your brothers."

Lily looked between Albus and James. Al had rode gazing out the side door window the entire way. He hadn't moved even now. “All right.” James stepped out his door to let Lilly through before getting back inside.

“Don't fight, you two," she said. "I don't like it when you fight.”

James gave his sister a soft smile before closing the door behind him.

Al still sat with his gaze to the window, his chin resting on his fist.

“I want you both to apologize to each other,” their mother said. “And neither of you are getting your wands back until you do.” She had taken their wands the night before.

The car was silent until James spoke up. “I'm sorry, Al.”

“Sorry for what?” their mother prompted.

“For calling you names.”

“And why are you sorry?”

“Because it was mean, and I won't do it again.”

Their mother nodded, satisfied. “Albus?”

Albus still hadn't turned from the window. He mumbled something.

“What was that?” their mother asked.

“I said, I'm not apologizing.”

“Albus-”

He finally turned to face her. “He deserved what he got, and I'm not taking it back.”

“Albus-” their father started.

Their mother put a hand on her husband's shoulder. “No, it's fine. James, you can have your wand back.” She handed it to him. “Al, we'll owl yours later.”

“ _What?_ ” Albus protested.

“You need your wand for classes,” she explained. “So I can't keep it from you forever. But I can keep it until classes start.”

“I'll be a laughingstock!” Albus told her. “No one needs their mum to owl them their _wand_.”

“Then apologize to your bother.”

“I won't!”

“Then that's the choice you make.”

Albus slammed his fist on the seat cushion. “This is so unfair!”

“You got the same deal as your brother.”

“But he doesn't mean it!” Albus told her. “He'll just start up again once we're at Hogwarts, and there's nothing you can do about it.”

“Al, I won't!” said James. “I mean it. I'm sorry.”

“I don't believe you!”

“Albus, you're being unreasonable,” said their father.

“ _You're_ being unreasonable!”

“ _Please_ don't fight!” came Lily's voice from outside.

“Everyone out of the car,” said their father. “We're done here.”

Al stepped out of the vehicle. He looked between his siblings. James gave Lilly a hug, and he caught something from his sister saying how proud she was.

“You did mean it, didn't you?”

“Of course, Lil.”

His parents stepped to the boot of the car and began pulling out their trunks and school supplies. He watched as his mother slipped his wand back into her pocket.

In seconds, his little sister and older brother stood before his parents, their school things loaded onto trolleys. They were the picturesque family. James stood next to their father, the spitting image. He'd never questioned the legacy he was born into. Their little sister, with their mother's red hair, absolutely adored her eldest brother. They were all utterly perfect... except for him.

Hot tears sprang to Albus' eyes. He simply didn't fit. He should have never been born. They all would be better off without him.

“Albus, come get your things,” his mother called.

But Albus shook his head. “I _hate_ you!” he said to James. “I hate you both!” he said to his parents. “I hate this family!”

“Al!”

Albus turned and ran, leaving all of his school things behind. His family shouted after him, but he didn't stop. He ran through King's Cross Station, then straight through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. He didn't stop to check nor cared about Muggles who might be watching.

He weaved through the crowd of students and families already gathered, pushing his way toward the train.

“Albus!” Scorpius grabbed his arm. “Where are you going so fast? Why are you still in muggle clothes? Where are your things?”

Albus looked around, double checking his family hadn't yet made it through. “Let's just get on the train, shall we?”

“Yeah, okay. Give me a sec.”

Albus boarded the train and picked out an empty compartment before Scorpius joined him.

“What happened?” his friend asked.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Okay...” Scorpius took a seat and eyed his friend, still hoping for an explanation.

Albus sat with his arms crossed and gazed out the window. Shouts started down the hall.

“Albus?”

“Albus!”

His brother and sister were looking for him.

“Pull the blinds, and the lock the door.”

“They sound worried,” Scorpius said. But he did as Albus asked.

“Let them be worried.” Albus continued staring out the window until the train whistle blew and the wall he'd been staring at outside started to move.

He sighed.

“You going to tell me what happened?” Scorpius asked again.

“Dad and I had an argument. It was bad.”

Scorpius glanced at the blinds. “And your siblings?”

“James and I had a fight. It was bad.”

Scorpius waited for more, but Albus again didn't elaborate.

Albus crossed his arms. “I don't belong with them. I didn't choose them. I shouldn't have to put up with them.”

“They're your family, Albus.”

“Maybe I don't want them as my family anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

There was a knock on their compartment door, and both boys jumped. “Anything off the trolley?”

Albus reached into his pockets, then realized he didn't have any money on him. Everything was still in his trunk with his parents.

“I go it.” Scorpius dug into his pocket and unlocked the door.

Once the trolley witch left, Albus began stuffing his pockets with sweets.

“Saving those for later?” Scorpius asked, already halfway through a pumpkin pasty.

“We might need them.” Albus stretched his pockets, trying to fit in as much as he could.

“Need them for what?”

Albus stepped to the compartment window and opened it.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Getting off this train.”

“You can't _get off_ a moving train. Are you nuts?”

Albus didn't respond, and Scorpius could only stare in disbelief as his friend climbed out the window. First he pushed his head through, then his torso. Albus reached for the top of the train, then pulled his legs and feet up after him.

“Apparently you are.” Scorpius hesitated, then stuffed a few treats in his own pockets before climbing out.

The wind was brutal, flipping Scorpius' hair into his eyes and threatening to push him off the train. He pulled himself onto the roof, then crouched down for balance. He brought his arm to his forehead to keep back his hair.

Albus stood crouched only a few feet from him.

“Albus, this _insane_!” He had to shout to be heard. “We shouldn't be up here!”

Pine trees flew by them on both sides so fast Scorpius thought he might throw up.

Albus shouted back at him. “We should jump when we reach the viaduct!”

“Are you crazy? Water isn't soft, Albus! It will crush us like concrete!”

Albus felt his pockets. “Do you remember how to do a Cushioning Charm?”

“Yes! Why?”

“Because I don't have my wand!”

Scorpius cursed. “I don't think that spell's meant to be used that way!”

The trees vanished, falling back to reveal smooth water below them.

“You'll have to charm me!”

“Albus, _no!_ This is ridiculous! Get back inside the train!”

But Albus leapt. Scorpios cursed.

It was either let his friend die or jump after him.


	5. Desperate Plans

"Do you think he got on the train?" Ginny asked as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station.

"Probably." But Harry wasn't certain, and it came through in his tone.

"He's never been excited about Hogwarts," his wife continued. "What if he's still on the platform?"

With the Hogwarts Express gone, the families on the platform began to disperse, heading back through the barrier. Harry and Ginny weaved through the remaining bodies from one end of the platform to the other, but there was no sign of Albus.

"What if he never came onto the platform?" asked Ginny. "What if he stayed in the station?"

They slipped through the barrier and split up. Once, Harry found a boy with dark hair, Al's height, and wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans. But it wasn't Albus.

"I can't find him anywhere," Ginny said when they regrouped. Her voice was starting to pitch.

"He must have gotten onto the train," Harry told her. But even so, his stomach twisted into knots.

"What if he didn't?" Ginny asked, tears coming to her eyes. "What if he-?"

She put her face in her hands, and Harry put his arms around her.

"I never should have held on to his wand." Her voice was muffled. Her face was pressed into his shoulder.

Harry rubbed her back. "Shhh. Don't do that to yourself. This isn't your fault." It was his fault, he was certain. All of it was his.

"He only got upset because of me," she said.

"You know that's not true. I'm the one he hates, remember?"

"He shouted it at both of us."

"He didn't mean it." He continued to hold on to his wife, but he was starting to wonder who needed more comforting. Inside, panic was mounting. He cast his eyes around the station, searching for any sign of Albus.

Ginny pulled away and wiped her eyes.

"He's probably on the train," he said again. But no amount of saying it would ease his nerves.

Ginny cast her gaze around the station. "Or he might have tried to get to my parents."

Her theory made a lot more sense. "We'll owl everyone." He slid an arm around her waist, and they started the walk back toward the car.

He was calm and collected on the outside, but inside he was screaming.

_I've failed my son! I've failed as a father!_

"Don't worry, Ginny. Al's a smart kid. He can take of himself."

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy wanted to kill his best friend.

After the death defying leap off the train, several desperately cast Cushoning Charms, and what must have been a one hundred yard swim to the shore, Scorpius now stood on the bank ringing out his robes, his shirt, his socks. There was nothing he could do about his shoes, which squished with every movement and sent cold water between his toes. He'd hidden behind a bush to ring out his underwear, but they too were cold and uncomfortable.

And now, as he finished putting his soggy clothing back on, Albus Potter was walking away from him into the woods like this was just a leisurely stroll.

"Where do you think you're going?" Scorpius called after him, forcing his waterlogged robes over his shoulders. They felt like they weighed a ton.

"There has to be a settlement around here somewhere."

Scorpius shook his head. "No, Albus, there doesn't."

His friend turned around to look at him. "Well, you're the uber geek. You tell me."

"I don't know! I never researched 'Places Near the Hogwarts Express Route' in case we decided to _jump off it_!"

Albus blinked. "You're still mad about that."

"Yes, I'm still bloody mad about that! Any reasonable person would be! Albus, we could have _died_!"

"But we didn't."

"That's not the point!"

"Isn't it?"

Scorpius stared at his friend with his mouth open. A fresh puddle of water was forming under his feet from his dripping robes.

"I thought you'd be more supportive," said Albus.

"Supportive?" Scorpius ran a hand through his wet hair. "Look, I get it, all right? We both know it's not easy standing in our fathers' shadows. And I know how James treats you. I'm not sure running away is the best solution, but if that's what you want to do, fine, yeah, I'll support you at every step."

He pointed back at the viaduct. "But you don't go jumping off a perfectly good moving train and falling hundreds of feet to your _near death_ because you're mad, okay? You've got to have some sort of plan for this. And – oh, sod this sodding thing!" Scorpius tore off his soaking robes and threw them onto the ground. They weren't worth bothering with.

Albus stared at his friend. "I'm sorry I made you jump off a train."

"Thank you," said Scorpius.

"And I'm sorry your clothes are soaked."

"Thank you," Scorpius repeated.

Albus hugged himself. His own clothes were just as wet and soaking. "I suppose we could build a fire."

"Not unless you want to try rubbing sticks together."

"You have your wand," Albus pointed out.

"But I can't use it. Not unless you want The Ministry on top of us in five seconds."

"What do you mean?"

"We still have The Trace on us."

"The what?"

"Don't tell me you don't know what The Trace is."

His friend's blank stare told him very clearly that he didn't.

Scorpius sighed. "The Trace is a spell put on us so the Ministry knows when any underage magic is used. The Cushioning Charms should be okay since we were in the vicinity of the train, and they know we were headed to Hogwarts, so that's all right – though the timing doesn't line up _exactly_. But given no one's shown up, I'd say we're safe. But if I light a fire out here in the middle of nowhere, they'll know."

"So we can't use magic?" asked Albus.

"Nope." Scorpius shook his head.

"Okay..." Albus bounced on his feet, trying to keep warm. "You're right, I really didn't think this out."

"You think?"

"Help me come up with something."

Scorpius looked around them. "Okay, we still have a few hours of daylight left and some food in our pockets. If you want to wander around the woods and hope we find something, we can do that. But if it gets too dark or too cold-" He held up his wand. "I light a fire, and then we see what happens."

"Agreed," Albus said with a nod.

"Although, I don't know what you plan on doing if we actually find some sign of civilization."

"I'll think of something when we see it."

"I'm sure you will."

Albus turned and started the trek through the woods. Scorpius plodded after him, his shoes leaving puddles behind with every step.


	6. St. Oswald's

“St. Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards,” Albus read.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.” Scorpius saw it, but he didn't believe it.

In front of them stood a quaint. pale yellow, one-story home with a perfectly manicured lawn and a sign at the very front declaring it's purpose.

Albus punched his friend on the arm. “I told you there are had to be something!”

Scorpius could only shake his head.

“Let's go.”

“Albus-wait!” Scorpius grabbed his friend by the shoulders and pulled him back. “We have to think about this.”

“About what?”

Scorpius jabbed his thumb toward the building. “Everyone in there is going to know we're supposed to be at Hogwarts.”

“Oh.” Albus' face fell. “That does complicate things.”

Scorpius rubbed his arms, trying to keep warm. Dusk had arrived, and it would be pitch dark soon. “I, for one, vote for indoors, dry clothes, and real food.” They'd wondered around in the woods for hours, and their sweets were long gone.

“We'll just have to tell the truth,” Albus said.

“And how well do you think that will go over?”

Albus pointed at him. “You could do it.”

“Me?”

“You're Draco Malfoy's son!” Albus explained. “You could make up all kinds of reasons why you ran away, and they'd believe you – no offense.”

Scorpius turned toward the yellow house. Albus had a point… but still. “No, I won't do that. Not to my dad. He doesn't deserve that. It will have to be you.”

“But who's going to believe the son of Harry Potter ran away?”

Scorpius shrugged. “You'll just have to try.”

“But-”

“This was all your idea, Albus. You're either committed or you're not. So what's it going to be?”

Albus bit his lip and turned toward the house, contemplating. “All right, I'll do it.”

“Thank goodness.” Scorpius strode through the bushes where they'd stood and headed straight toward the light and warmth.

He pulled open the front door and gasped as his clothing immediately grew colder instead of warmer, though he could feel the warmth on his face. The foyer opened to a desk, behind which rose a set of stairs. To the right, a living room opened, in which sat several elderly occupants engaged in various activities such as knitting or chess.

A young woman with long light brown hair stood at the desk, and her eyes widened as they entered.

Albus strode up to her. “Hi. Um, I'm Albus Potter, as in Harry Potter's son. Yes, _the_ Harry Potter. I ran away from home. My friend-” He gestured at Scorpius. “And I are cold and hungry and could really use a place to stay the night, if you don't mind. Please don't tell my parents.”

The young woman blinked, then she put on a practiced smile. “Just one moment. I'll be right with you.” She turned around and entered a door behind her labeled “Staff Only.”

Albus looked back at Scorpius and shrugged.

Scorpius came to stand beside his friend. He didn't care much what happened at this point so long as he could finally get out of his damp clothes.

The young woman returned along with a plump elderly woman. She had a mop of gray curls around her head. “I'm Martha Routledge.” She said, her smile was much more relaxed than the younger witch's. “And this is my home. I hear you two ran away?”

“Just me,” Albus clarified. “Scorpius was just… er, being a good friend.”

Martha turned to Scorpius. “Well, that was very kind of you, young man – goodness! You're both soaking!”

She waved her wand, and Scorpius felt blissful warmth wash over him as his clothing became dry and, if he wasn't mistaken, slightly heated.

“Why don't you boys follow me,” Martha said. “We'll get you all sorted out.”

She retreated through the “Staff Only” door, and Scorpius and Albus followed.

The door opened to a spacious kitchen with large cooking pots and long counter tops. Martha reached under one and pulled out a tray of ham and chicken sandwiches, cut into triangles.

“I'm afraid this is all I have on hand at the moment.”

But Albus and Scorpius dug into them, nearly forgetting to say thank you.

“I have a vacant room,” Martha continued while they ate. “I'll have Adele make it up for you.”

“You won't alert our parents?” Albus asked, looking up from half a sandwich.

Martha shook her head. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?” asked Scorpius.

Martha chuckled. “I raised three boys of my own. You two eat all you will of those, and Adele will show you upstairs.”

She left, and Albus turned to Scorpius. “Do you think she's telling the truth?”

Scorpius shrugged. “I guess. What other options do we have?”

Albus nodded in agreement, then continued digging into the sandwiches.

* * *

“Thank you for coming over,” said Ginny as she opened the door of their home for Ron and Hermione.

“Don't mention it,” said Hermione.

“We brought food!” said Ron, holding up a large casserole dish.

“Oh, good,” said Ginny. “We haven't thought about food at all since...”

Hermione put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sure Albus got on the train.”

Ginny nodded. “That's what Harry keeps saying.”

She led them into the kitchen where Harry sat, the Marauder's Map in front of him once again.

Ron sat the casserole dish on the counter and lifted the lid, revealing roast lamb with tomatoes, onions, and blood oranges.

“Is that-” Ginny dipped her finger in the sauce and placed it in her mouth. “Mum's recipe?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Ron.

“Where did you get mum's recipe?”

“About the time Rose was old enough to eat real food, and I was tired of ruining dinner.”

“You cook?”

Ron stuck out his thumb in the direction of his wife. “Ministry career woman.”

“Ah.” Ginny nodded. She too knew the long hours Ministry workers had to pull. “Could you get me the recipe?”

“You can have the cookbook if you want it.”

Ginny's eyes widened. “Mum sent you her _cookbook_? With all her hand written recipes?”

Ron shrugged. “She said she didn't need it anymore. Had the whole thing memorized.”

While Ron and Ginny discussed dinner, Hermione sat down at the table across from Harry. “Is that… what I think it is?”

Harry nodded, and pushed the Marauder's Map toward her. He had finally gotten the pieces back together, but they were still ink stained and lifeless.

Hermione stared at it with her mouth open. “What happened?”

“Al and I had an argument. It didn't end well.”

Hermione looked down at the Map again.

“I've tried just about everything I can think of.”

“I'll look into it,” she said as she folded the Map.

“I know how busy you are.”

“Trust me, Harry.” She put the Map in her back pocket. “This is something I am more than happy to do.”

Harry barely had enough time to say thank you before Ginny and Ron joined them with loaded plates. Food helped lighten the mood and soon the four of them were talking and laughing like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Then an owl pecked at the window.

Everyone jumped. Harry and Ginny sat frozen in their seats, their eyes fixed on the letter in the owl's beak.

Hermione stood from the table, opened the window, took the letter from the owl, and ripped it open.

“What does it say?” asked Harry. Behind him, Ginny gripped his shoulder.

Hermione eyes darted back and forth, scanning the letter. “It's from McGonagall. She says that both Albus and Scorpius Malfoy are missing. They never arrived at Hogwarts.”

Ginny broke into sobs.


	7. Lost

“My son was on that train,” Draco told Harry in his office. “I waved to him as it left.”

“Then Al _must_ have gotten on,” said Harry. “And your son talked him off it!”

“My son isn't the one who ran off!”

“He ran from us at the station! There's no reason in the world he would have ran off the Express!”

“Don't go laying blame where you have no basis for it, Potter!”

“My son is missing!”

“So is mine!”

“That's _enough_!” yelled Hermione. “Harry, you're jumping to conclusions.”

“Albus never acted like this until he went to Hogwarts and met _his_ son!”

“I said, _enough_ ,” Hermione told him. “Can you handle your duties impartially, or do I need to pull you off your post until further notice?”

Harry clammed his mouth shut but not without pursing his lips in evident frustration.

Draco spoke up. “I want to know how my son got off that train.”

“We are working on it,” Hermione told him. She pinched the skin between her eyes. “Now, I have a press conference to attend on the safety of the Hogwarts Express. In the meantime, I can assure you that everyone is doing their part to find Albus and Scorpius. I hope I can trust the two of you to play _nice_ and not make this any more difficult than it already is.”

She strode from the office without waiting for an answer, closing the door behind her.

Draco immediately wheeled around to face Harry. “We should be out there _looking_ for them.”

“People _are_ ,” said Harry. “And as much as I share your sentiment, it would be irresponsible for the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to be personally handling a missing person case, even his own son's.”

“So what, we're supposed to just sit here and _wait_?”

“Yes!” said Harry, his frustration still evident. “And by doing so we'll be the first ones to know when Albus and Scorpius are found.”

“And just what do you plan on doing in the mean time?”

Harry sat down at his desk and cast a dismal look at a large stack of parchment. “Paperwork.”

Draco scoffed, threw up his hands, and grumbled as he stormed from the office.

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his face.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Hermione walked toward her office, still rubbing between her eyes. The conference had gone well enough. At least, she thought she'd given intelligent enough answers. Though, one could never tell with the press trying to spin the situation as though the Hogwarts Express was readily ejecting students from their seats. Still, she couldn't get the mounting pressure between her eyes to go away.

Distracted by her thoughts, she nearly ran straight into her husband as he stood outside her office.

“R-Ron?”

“Surprise!” he smiled.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought you could use a break,” he said. “And from the looks of things, I was right.”

Hermione dropped her hand to her side. “I'm fine.”

“I know you are,” he placated. “But I thought it might be nice if we could have lunch together.”

“But-”

He took his wife's hands in his and looked into her face like he was proposing. “Will you have lunch with me, Hermione Granger?”

Hermione sighed. “Fine. You win.”

Ron grinned.

“Not a very long lunch.”

“Promise,” said Ron. “Won't take long at all.”

* * *

They stopped in London at a French muggle cafe, ordered soup, and sat outside. Hermione indulged herself and had a small glass of wine.

“See?” said Ron. “You needed a break.”

Hermione nodded. “Let me say thank you now in case I forget later.” The pressure between her eyes returned, and she pressed her fingers to it.

Ron bit his lip.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” his wife asked.

“Well," Ron hesitated. "Do you remember third year at Hogwarts when you had that time-turner and you were taking all these extra classes?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you kind of look like you did then… I mean, overwhelmed.”

Hermione shook her head. “It's just been a long morning.”

“No, I don't mean recently with Albus and Scorpius. I mean, lately… the past few weeks.”

Hermione sighed. “It's not an easy job, Ron.”

“I understand that,” he said. “I just wonder if maybe you're putting too much work on yourself. You know, maybe you could… delegate a bit more. Maybe we should go on a holiday.”

“A holiday?!”

Ron nearly laughed. “It's not supposed to be scary! It's just a break.”

But Hermione's eyes were wide with horror. “Do you have _any_ idea how much paperwork and conferences would pile up?”

“See? That's when you know you're working too hard, when 'holiday' becomes a four letter word.”

Hermione clasped her hands to her face. “Goblins!”

“You've lost me.” said Ron.

“I was supposed to meet with the Goblins!” Hermione looked down at her watch, then scrambled to her feet. “Bye! Sorry! I love you!” She kissed her bewildered husband, missing his lips and settling for his cheek before running off.

Ron sighed and looked down at their half eaten lunch.

“Is everything all right?” asked a waiter.

Ron shook his head and waved a hand at their meals. “Can I just take this to go, please?”

* * *

Harry looked up at a knock on his office door. Ron poked his head through and held up a white paper bag. “Lunch?”

“Yes, please.” Harry tossed aside a piece of parchment he'd been trying to read for the past hour.

Ron sat the bag on Harry's desk and took a chair. He pulled out a styrofoam bowl of soup and a plastic spoon.

“Thanks,” said Harry as Ron slid the bowl toward him.

“Any news?” asked Ron, pulling out his half eaten lunch.

“No,” said Harry.

“I'm sure they'll turn up.”

Harry nodded and noticed the paper bag was much bigger than it should be. “What else is in there?”

“Ah, well, some bread, and… uh, I started to have lunch with Hermione, and then she had to run off.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she's just a bit… frazzled.”

Harry sighed. “I'm sorry to add to it.”

Ron shook his head. “It's not your fault.”

“I worry about her,” Harry admitted.

“I do too.”

They ate their soup in silence.

“Have Hugo or Rose ever acted out?” Harry asked when his soup was half gone.

Ron thought about it. “Not really. I mean, there was that one year before starting Hogwarts where Hugo talked of nothing else but skipping school and running the joke shop.”

“I remember that,” said Harry. “How did you talk him out of it?”

“Just had George tell him he didn't accept employees who hadn't finished their NEWTs.”

“Ah,” said Harry.

“I'm not helping, am I?”

Harry sighed. “I just don't understand where Al gets it. The only thing I keep coming back to is, well, Scorpius.”

Ron grimaced. “I didn't want to say anything. I mean, you're the one who's always advocating for House unity.”

“Maybe I'm wrong,” Harry said. “Maybe you're right.”

“All I know is,” Ron said. “Draco Malfoy was not the kind of student I would have wanted my kids being friends with. And, yeah, I know things have changed, and I know his son isn't him. But it's the only basis I have to go on.”

Harry nodded. “I've been thinking the same thing.”

There was a pause, and then Ron said, “Our wives would not be happy we're having this conversation.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “They wouldn't.”


	8. And Found

Albus and Scorpius spent the next day at the retirement home doing whatever they could to help out. They worked in the kitchen, aiding in the cooking and cleaning. Scorpius played chess with some of the residents, and Albus brought the idea to Martha for a potion that might help with arthritis pains and aided her in early preparations.

“I think I might stay here,” said Albus when they retreated to their room that evening.

“Yeah?” asked Scorpius.

“I could help out, you know?” He laid down on the bed, propping his hands behind his head, his elbows sticking out. “Earn some money, and then… I don't know. Figure out where to go from there. What do you think?”

Scorpius sighed and sat down at the end of the bed. “You want my honest opinion?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“I think that's a really stupid idea.”

“What?” Albus sat up to look at his friend.

“I mean,” Scorpius said. “You'd be missing four years of school. Think of everything you wouldn't learn.”

“I know enough.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Albus, look. I get that life is hard sometimes, and Martha is a nice lady, and this is a nice place. But that doesn't mean I want to stay here.”

Albus wrinkled his brow. “What are you saying?”

Scorpius twisted so they were looking squarely at each other. “I'm saying that I'm your friend, and I'll support you in whatever you decide, but that doesn't mean I'm going to agree with it or stay here with you. I'm going back to Hogwarts, Albus. It's where I want to be.”

“But… you're my best friend.”

“And I'll always be your best friend, Albus. But I'm not missing four years of school for you. I want to take my OWLs and my NEWTs and graduate. And, honestly, I think as your best friend, it's my duty to tell you that you're being really selfish.”

“Selfish?!” Albus rose to his feet.

Scorpius followed right after him. “Yes, Albus! Selfish! You're not the only one that Hogwarts is hard for, you know? I'm Draco Malfoy's son, as you've pointed out – a prior Death Eater and a turncoat. How popular do you think that makes me on either side?”

Albus blinked. He hadn't thought about it.

“And you,” Scorpius continued, pointing at him. “You could ace your classes without cracking a book. I swear the Sorting Hat put you in the wrong house.”

“I know,” said Albus. “I should be Slytherin, with you.”

“No,” said Scorpius. “You should be in Ravenclaw. Do you realize how talented you are? You've surpassed everyone at Potions just because you decided you cared. You're not terrible at Transfiguration or Charms, you just _choose_ to be. The number of hours I've studied and studied and then asked you about a topic or a spell and you just _do_ it or you just _know_. It's infuriating!”

Ablus opened his mouth to object, but Scorpius continued, pacing back and forth in front of him. “And to top it all off, here you are ready to just throw your whole life and your whole family away. Do you have any idea how much I would have loved to have had a brother or a sister? Do you have any idea what it's like to know you can't have them because your mother nearly _died_ having you? And then she dies anyway, and your father's the only person you have left.”

“At least your father cares!” Albus shot at him, causing his friend to turn around to face him. “You and him don't fight like we do.”

“We fight all the time!”

Albus cocked his head to the side. “When?”

“Every summer!” Scorpius told him. “About you! About you coming to visit!”

Albus fell silent. “I didn't… I didn't know.”

“No, of course you didn't know. Because you didn't ask. Because you never thought about it. Because you're Albus Potter and you're life is so terrible, and you never stop to think that maybe you don't have it so bad.”

Scorpius strode from the bed to the door, and then spun around. “Guess what? You will always be Harry Potter's son. That will never change, no matter where you go or what you do or whether you change your name or your face, that will always follow you. And you're going to have to make your peace with that. And maybe you can't, but the pity train stops here.” Scorpius pointed at his feet.

“I am going home, with or without you.” Scorpius spun to the door and pulled it open. He was halfway through it before he paused and sighed. “You're my best friend, Albus. And I would jump off a train for you. But sometimes, I think you're really of full of yourself.”

Albus could only stare dumbstruck as his friend left and closed the door behind him. He sat on the bed for a long time thinking things over, and then he left the room. Scorpius was sitting halfway down the staircase, his chin resting in his hands.

Albus sat down on the step next to him. “I never did ask you how things were without your mom.”

“There's nothing really to say,” Scorpius said. “Everything's different, like you'd expect it to be. But you move forward like nothing's changed.” Scorpius shook his head. “Not because it's easy or it makes sense – because it doesn't – but because otherwise, you'd just freeze up and be unable to move, and you can't let that happen because she wanted better for you.”

Scorpius turned his face away, and Albus pretended not to notice. “You know, if you really want, you can have James as a big brother.”

Scorpius chuckled as he wiped his eyes.

“You really think I belong in Ravenclaw?”

“I do,” said Scorpius turning to his friend. “I really do.”

Albus sighed and stared down the stairs. “I guess I have been kinda full of myself.”

“I didn't mean that.”

“Yes, you did,” said Albus. “Don't take back what you meant to say. Even if it wasn't polite, it was true. And I needed to hear it.”

Silence fell between them until Scorpius asked, “So what are you going to do?”

“I guess… I'm going to suck it up, and go back to Hogwarts.”

Scorpius smiled, then he threw his arms around his friend.

“Do we hug?” asked Albus, patting his friend on the back. “Is this something we do?”

“It's been a really strange twenty four hours,” Scorpius told him.

* * *

Harry paced in his office. He'd spent the usual work hours staring at and failing to complete any paperwork. His mind whirled with thoughts of Albus. Where could he be? What was he doing? How well could he take care of himself without his wand? What role did Scorpius Malfoy play in this?

Hours of trying to figure out how the boys had gotten off the train and where they could have gone finally pulled up a report of Cushioning Charms off the back of the Hogwarts Express over the viaduct. Harry refused to let his thoughts go further than that, to allow himself to wonder if the Charms hadn't worked…

He hadn't told Ginny. And now as regular work hours came to a close, he wondered if he should return home to be with her or owl that he'd be working late. He didn't want to leave her alone, but he wasn't sure he could look his wife in the eye and lie to her when she asked if there'd been any news.

He couldn't put that burden on her. It was already a burden on him. Again the image came to his mind of the boys jumping off the train, falling toward the water, Cushioning Charms shooting frantically beneath them...

Harry shook his head, banishing the image. He took up a renewed vigor in his pacing. He didn't know what else to do to calm his nerves. He was going to go mad if something didn't happen soon.

And then a bright silver light in the shape of a beaver floated through his office wall and landed on his desk. For a moment, Harry thought he might have truly gone insane, but then the beaver opened it's mouth and spoke.

“We've found them.”

* * *

Albus stood at the front desk of Oswald's with Scorpius and Martha. He'd told Martha he was ready to go home, and she'd messaged the Ministry. Now all they had to do was wait.

“Will you stop doing that?” asked Scorpius.

“Stop what? Oh.” Ablus hadn't realized until that moment that he'd been tapping his foot. “Sorry.” He pressed his foot against the floor and folded his arms across his chest, trying to hold in the nervousness. “How long do you think?” he asked Martha. “Before they get here?”

She smiled at him. “The Ministry is usually very efficient.”

And with his father involved perhaps they wouldn't be waiting very long at all. Albus turned his gaze to the front door. Would they even use the front door? Would his father just suddenly appear at his side? Or was Oswald's protected against apparition like Hogwarts?

It was only a moment later when the front door burst open with his father standing on the threshold radiating his frustration and anger, like a heat that Albus could feel from across the room. He glanced down at his shoes. _I'm in trouble._

“Dad!” cried Scorpius.

Albus looked up as his friend left his side and ran toward Draco Malfoy who stood behind Albus' own father. His dad spun around to look back at Mr. Malfoy as Scorpius embraced him, apparently surprised to see him there. But then, it made sense that Draco Malfoy would have Ministry connections.

Draco embraced his son wholeheartedly with a smile and a firm hug. One look at his father's hard set jaw and cold gaze told Albus he would not be receiving such a warm reception. He looked down at the floor again as his father approached him.

“So here you are,” his voice was every bit as cold as his face. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Albus' mind froze. He had no idea what he had to say for himself. Nothing at all.

“Do you have any idea what you've put us through?” his father continued. “You made your mother cry. We've both been sick with worry!”

Albus squirmed. His mind was just as blank as ever.

“Say something!” his father demanded.

“I'm sorry!” he blurted.

“Not sorry enough.”

Martha cleared her throat. “If I may?”

Albus' father wheeled on her. “You should have alerted us the moment they arrived here!”

Martha faced him with the same set eyes and jaw. Her voice was clear and confident. “I thought it would be better if the boys made up their own minds to return.”

“You had no right to make that call!”

“Dad!” Albus protested, trying to get the attention off Martha, but he flinched as his father turned back to face him.

“You are in enough trouble, young man! You are grounded for the entire summer when you return home.” His father took his arm and began dragging him toward the door.

Albus grounded his feet and pushed back, shoving his father off him. He opened his mouth, ready to proclaim that he was never returning home and run right back up the stairs. But his eyes darted to Scorpius, his only friend, who stood by the door watching the scene. Draco Malfoy had his hands resting on his son's shoulders, friendly, comfortable, non combative.

Albus sucked in a breath and faced his dad. “I'm sorry I haven't been a perfect a son! But you haven't been a perfect father!”

A _slap_ rang through the foyer, deafening all other sound. It took Albus a moment to realize that it was his own cheek that was stinging.

His father's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropping as he stared at his son. He cast his gaze around the room - at Martha, at Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius, at the tenants who were peeking in from the living room, then finally back at his son.

“Albus.” His voice was dry, and he swallowed. “Albus, I...”

Albus had no words for this either.

“Let's go home,” his father said, his voice having lost all harshness. He turned and walked from the building, not looking back to see if his son had followed.

Albus glanced at Scorpius before lowering his fingers from his cheek and walking out the door.


	9. Indifference

"You didn't tell me it was that bad," said Scorpius once they were back at Hogwarts and their fathers had left.

They sat in the Headmistress' office. They would be returning to their dorms soon, but McGonagall wanted them to wait until everyone had gone to bed so as not to cause a scene. Another plate of ham and chicken sandwiches sat in front of them, and they ate.

Albus paused with a sandwich halfway to his mouth. "What's bad?"

"Your father hit you," said Scorpius.

Albus rolled his lips. He wasn't sure if his cheek still stung or if it was just some phantom sensory lingering. He hoped it wasn't pink. He didn't want his dad getting into trouble. "It's never happened before. That's the first time he's ever done it."

Scorpius leaned in close. "Albus… you'd tell me if it was otherwise?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. "I tell you everything."

* * *

Harry entered the front door of his home. Ginny was sitting at the kitchen table, and she rose as he came in.

"Any news?" she called.

Harry froze. He had not been able to come up with any way of preventing this conversation from ending in total disaster. "They found them. They're both back at Hogwarts, safe and sound."

Ginny walked toward him. "You saw Albus? You were there?"

Harry nodded, trying not to grimace at what was about to follow.

Ginny's eyes sparked. "And you didn't message me?"

"I should have," Harry told her. "I definitely should have."

"Damn right!" she shouted at him. "I've been sitting here worried sick, and you've known he's been fine for the past few hours! He's my son too!"

"I know," said Harry holding up his hands in defense. "I know! I should have told you. It's just – I got the message that they were found, and I immediately apparated without thinking. And then Al and I had a fight and it… it didn't end well."

Ginny stared at him. Harry knew she could read between the lines, that he hadn't contacted her after he'd found Albus because he'd been to ashamed to face her. "What happened?"

Harry took a breath, and the words tumbled out. "I hit him."

Ginny's eyes widened. "You did _what_?"

"I hit him," Harry repeated, the words flowing freely. "Slapped him. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't even know I'd done it until Al was looking at me his hand on his cheek. I didn't..." Ginny had an expression on her face that he could not read. Her eyes were wide and shinning. He didn't know if it was from anger or sympathy or something else. "Please say something."

Ginny shook her head. Her mouth opened, but it took her a moment to speak. "I don't know what to say to you."

Harry sighed. "I don't know what to say to myself."

They stood in silence until Ginny broke it. "Perhaps we all need a time out." She ran a hand through her hair. "Albus still needs his things. I'm going to go gather them together, and I'll deliver them in the morning. You," she locked eyes with her husband. "Can sleep down here tonight."

Harry nodded. "Of course."

"And I want you to take a few days off work."

Harry blanched. He couldn't take time off work! There were important things he needed to do, investigations into the rising supporters of Voldemort, paperwork he had barely touched.

But one look at Ginny told him the subject was not negotiable. So he nodded, and his wife turned and started up the stairs.

Harry removed his shoes and cloak before her words called out to him from the staircase. "You say you don't understand him. That he acts out, and you don't know why. Someone acted out tonight, Harry, and it wasn't Al."

* * *

Harry couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts ran through his head, and he twisted and turned under his blanket. At length he threw it off him and sat up.

His son. He'd _hit_ his son. _Hit_ him.

He'd wanted kids, wanted a family, wanted to give his children everything he had never had. And now…What kind of father was he?

 _It was only once,_ Harry told himself. _It won't happen again._

But he'd thought it would never happen in the first place. And he'd done it without even thinking. What did that mean? What kind of father did that make him?

He rose from the couch and took the picture of his parents off the mantle. They smiled and waved at him. What he wouldn't give to hear their voices, to know what advice they might share. But they were only shadows charmed to move and nothing else. They could offer him no comfort.

But there could be another way.

Harry sat the picture of his parents down, and dropped to his knees before the coffee table. There was a cabinet underneath and he opened it. He pulled out Christmas puzzles and long forgotten toys and books until he uncovered the very bottom where he pulled out a framed portrait that had been left face down.

Harry raised the portrait to his face and turned it over. A black background stared at him. He knew portraits couldn't be relied on, that they were figments of the living. A memoir of what had once been. But sometimes, Harry needed advice, and he didn't know where else to turn. That's why he kept the portrait hidden, to be forgotten about until the utmost need.

And he certainly needed it now.

"Hello?" he said.

It took a few seconds. But eventually an old man with long white hair and matching beard appeared. He wore long flowing robes and half moon glasses.

"Hello, Harry," said Dumbledore. "It's been a while."

"I need help," said Harry. "Advice. About Albus."

Dumbledore nodded. "I have watched him through my portraits at Hogwarts. He is a very troubled boy."

Harry nodded.

"As are you," Dumbledore added.

"I'm troubled?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore nodded again. "I can see it right now. And I have portraits in the Ministry as well. I have watched you both."

"And?"

"And," Dumbledore continued. "I see a dark cloud around both of you."

"A dark... cloud?" He had no idea what that meant.

"You remember the spell that saved you as a baby?"

"How could I forget?"

"Love is perhaps the most powerful magic of our world," Dumbledore said. "And the opposite of love can be the most powerful curse."

"Hate?" Harry asked.

But Dumbledore shook his head. "Many mistake love and hate for different sides of the same galleon. But love and hate in fact coexist. For where one has passion, any combination of the two may arise.

"It is indifference," Dumbledore continued. "That is the opposite of love. Indifference that causes a man to kill and not care, to destroy and never blink, to harm and never feel remorse. With Indifference, there can be no love, no friendship, no family, no future. With indifference comes distruction."

"Albus isn't indifferent," said Harry.

"Is he not?"

Harry thought about it, about Al's aloofness in regards to his studies, how he little cared for making friends besides Scorpius. When he returned home for the summer, he locked himself in his room and interacted as little as possible with his family.

"Are _you_ not?" continued Dumbledore.

"I'm not-!" Harry protested, but Dumbledore lowered his gaze and stared at Harry over his half moon glasses.

How often had he, Harry, claimed a lack of understanding toward his son? What steps had he taken to try to understand beyond voicing his frustration? Wasn't all he wanted was for Albus to fall in line and act like his brother and sister? Had he given any real thought at all to what Albus wanted and why he wanted, or had he simply concluded it wasn't worth considering?

When he'd seen Albus at St. Oswald's, he hadn't been relieved or filled with joy. He'd been angry at what his son had done to him and continued to put him through. He hadn't thought to ask Albus why he'd done it, hadn't really cared about the explanation. He'd just wanted it all to end.

Was it indifference that had caused him to strike his son?

"You see?" said Dumbledore. "It's-"

"Thanks for the advice," said Harry. "Back in the cabinet."

"It's rather dusty in there. I wish you'd-"

But Dumbledore's words were no longer understandable as Harry placed his portrait face down in the cabinet. He piled all the books and toys on top of it, then closed the cabinet doors.

Harry returned to the sofa and hugged his knees as he sat. Dumbledore's words, though helpful, hadn't been much comfort.


	10. Trouble

Their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a younger witch, about the same age as Scorpius' father. Professor Direld had straight long sliver hair with blue streaks. The style choice might have been an indication of inner youth and fun, but combined with her stern face, Scorpius thought it gave an overall icy appearance.

"Today," she said. "We are going to learn about the Patronus Charm. Who can tell me what it does?"

A single hand rose into the air, and Scorpius did a double take when he realized it was Albus.

Professor Direld nodded at him.

"It protects you from Dementors," he said.

"Correct," she said. "Five points to Gryffindor."

"But when are we ever going to run into one of those?" asked a freckled faced boy from Gryffindor whose name Scorpius had never bothered to commit to memory.

"Five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn."

The boy shrunk in his seat.

"Since the Ministry's expelling of Dementor's from Azkaban," Professor Direld continued. "The chances of encountering a wild Dementor is much higher than it used to be. However, the spell has other uses. Who can tell me another purpose?"

Albus' hand rose again.

"Does anyone else know or care to speculate?" She waited, but one else volunteered. She nodded at Albus again.

"You can use it to send messages, and it's faster than by owl."

"Five more points to Gryffindor."

The freckled faced boy raised his hand. "If it's father than owl post, why doesn't everyone use it?"

"Excellent question," said Professor Direld. "Does anyone know?"

Albus raised his hand. Professor Direld stared at him and consulted her list of students. "You're a Potter?"

Albus nodded, his hand still in the air.

She tossed the roll of parchment onto her desk. "Why don't you enlighten the class?"

"You need a happy memory. But not just any happy memory – like the day you go your wand – but a really powerful one that can drive back despair. Not everyone can do that."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," she said. "Now I want you all to start thinking of a powerful happy memory while we work on the incantation and wand waving."

By the end of the class, Scorpius had managed to produce silver wisps. Albus had done better and managed a silver cloud.

"How did you know all that stuff?" Scorpius asked after class as they walked the halls.

"Dad told me about the Patrous Charm years ago," he said. "Didn't think I'd paid much attention, but apparently I did."

Scorpius scoffed in disgust. "You're brain's a freaking sponge, I swear." Someone bumped his shoulder, and Scorpius turned around to watch a girl walking away. She wiggled her fingers at him and winked. "Polly Chapman?"

There was another scoff, and Scorpius turned around to find Rose standing in front of him.

"She only likes you because you jumped off a train." She walked off in a huff.

Scorpius turned back to Polly. She leaned casually against the stone wall of the hallway and smiled at him. "I could get used to being famous."

Albus shook his head. "I think I prefer being invisible."

* * *

"You didn't have to bring food," said Harry as he sat at the kitchen table with Ron. "Ginny always has something prepared ahead."

"You don't cook?" asked Ron.

Harry shook his head. "Reminds me too much of living with the Dursley's.

Ron nodded as he spooned out leftover portions of the roast he and Hermione had brought two nights ago. "It needed finishing up anyway." He distributed the plates. "So… Hermione didn't explain why you'd taken a leave of absence."

Harry sighed. He didn't want to have this conversation.

"They found Al alright?" asked Ron.

Harry nodded. "He's safe and sound at school."

"So… what happened?"

Harry forked a tomato and put it in his mouth to give him more time to stall. He chewed slowly, even though he knew there was nothing that could save him from the truth. "Albus and I got into an argument. And I… I hit him."

Ron's eye's widened.

Harry pushed his plate away, no longer hungry.

"We'll, that's…" tried Ron. "I mean… you didn't mean to do it, right?"

"I don't think that makes the action any better."

"But…" Ron screwed up his face, thinking hard. "There's parents who abuse their children regularly, and that's not you."

"Is it not?" Harry asked. "I didn't mean to hit him. I had no intention of hitting him. Yet, I did. What's going to stop it from happening again?"

Ron hesitated. He cast his gaze around the room as though hoping Hermione or Ginny were there to help. Finally, he said, "We all make mistakes, mate."

"Have you ever hit your children?" asked Harry.

"No, but-"

"You can't say we all make mistakes when I'm the only one making them."

"Harry..." Ron hesitated again. "You're not a bad father, okay? You're not. I know you."

"Would you have thought me capable of hitting my son?"

Ron bit his lip and averted his gaze.

"Then how well do you really know me?" Harry pushed back his chair and headed toward the living room.

Ron came right after him. "Harry, listen. You can't-"

There was a knock on the front door. Harry strode past Ron to opened it. Draco Malfoy stood on his doorstep.

"May I come in?" he asked.

Harry didn't move from the doorway. "What do you want?"

"To discuss a few things." Draco held up a rolled copy of the morning's Daily Prophet. "I trust you've seen this."

Harry hadn't. He took the paper and unrolled it. One the front page was a picture of Harry standing with his family. Underneath was the headline "The Potter Family's Dark Secret."

Rita Skeeter was the attributed author, and Harry didn't have to read far to find her accusation that he was abusing his wife and children.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, reading over his shoulder.

Harry pushed down the anger burning inside him and lowered the paper. "You believe everything Rita Skeeter writes?"

"Normally, I believe none of it."

Harry clenched the paper in his grip. "What's different this time?"

"Because I saw you strike your son."

"Now, wait a minute-!"

Harry had put out an arm to stop Ron from lunging at Draco. He pushed his own anger aside. "What you saw was a one-time thing. If I could take it back, I would."

"I hope that's the truth."

"It's none of your business," Ron hissed.

Draco held up a small folded piece of parchment. "Your son wrote to me."

Harry's eyes widened. "He did what?" He reached for the letter with his free hand, but Draco held it out of grasp. "Give me the letter, Malfoy!"

"It's not yours to have." Draco put it in his back pocket.

Harry held his arm steady as Ron pushed against it. "It's from _my_ son!"

"And it's addressed to _me_." Draco shot a warning look at Ron before returning his gaze to Harry. "He asked if he could visit over the summer, and in the past I have denied such requests."

"Ignored them, actually," said Ron.

Draco kept his eyes on Harry. "If there is any truth of Skeeter's article, and you are abusing the boy-"

"I am not," Harry insisted.

"Then you don't need to worry about me taking him from your doorstep."

"You have no authority-!"

"I think I remember someone reminding me that I have connections," Draco said. "Do not mistake me, Potter. I don't make a habit of taking children from their parents. But your son is my son's best friend, and if he's being treated improperly, I will bring the full force of whatever power I have left down upon you." He turned on his heel, walked a few paces away, and disapparated.

Harry stood shaking in the doorway. He twisted the newspaper in his hands until he was in danger of ripping it in half. The only thing that snapped him out of it was Ron's frustrated voice beside him. "That-that bloody hypocrite! Who does he think he is?"

It was much easier to temper his own rage when trying to keep Ron in check. "He's not a hypocrite, Ron." Harry stepped back, and pulled the door close. "He's never hit his son."

"You don't know that," Ron said.

Harry shook his head. "When Albus and Scorpius were found, Draco was there. And he didn't lash out or get angry. He embraced his son without a single word. That's how Draco Malfoy treats his son. That's the parental image that Harry Potter failed to live up to."


	11. Parental Guidance

Harry jumped when he heard the front door open. He wasn't sure what to expect from his wife as she arrived home. He stood from the sofa on which he sat and strode to meet her in the foyer. "How was work?"

"It was work," she said as she hung her jacket on the coat rack.

So no one had told her about the Rita Skeeter article? She hadn't seen it?

She turned to look at him. "How was your day?" There was no smile, no warmth in her voice.

Harry hesitated, unsure of what he could say or do to make her not mad at him any longer. He was sure mentioning the article would only send her into a tail spin.

"I straightened up a bit." He gestured in the direction of the kitchen and living room. "And Ron came over for a little while..." He trailed off. She stood in from of him, her face set, waiting for him to say something he didn't know what.

"I took Al his things today," she said when he didn't say anything. "McGonagall was kind enough to let me use her fireplace to floo stuff over so he wouldn't be embarrassed in front of his classmates."

She waited, and Harry wished he had something good to share about their son, but all he could think of was Malfoy's visit. "Ginny, I'm so sorry for all of this. I shouldn't have-"

She shook her head, looking away from him. "Do you remember when all that stuff was happening about you being The Chosen One and how only you could defeat Voldemort, and you couldn't risk any of us dying for you, and we had to remind you that it wasn't just about you?"

"Yeah..." He had no idea where she was going with this.

"Well, it's not just about you."

He stared at her, just as confused as ever.

"Harry, we're a team!" she said. "We work _together._ We raise our children _together_. We're in this _together_. And when you go off to find our missing child by _yourself_ or you take responsibility for what's happened on _yourself_ – Harry, we've raised Albus together! We've raised all our children together!"

"I know, Ginny. I didn't mean-"

"Don't come to me and tell me that this all your fault! I am his _mother_. I've played a part in this too. We're both responsible for what's happened-" Ginny sniffled and brought her hands to her face.

Harry hesitated. She'd pushed him away in the past when she'd been in angry tears. But when a sob escaped her, he step forward and wrapped his arms around her. She cried into his shoulder. He kissed her cheek and her hair as he told her over and over. "I'm sorry."

She took a shaking breath. "Don't do this to me, Harry."

The unspoken words that she didn't want to be left out twisted a knot in his stomach, and he held her tighter. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

At length, her tears subsided, and Harry pulled back to look at her, not parting fully from the embrace. "Can I kiss you for coming home?"

She let out a breath of laughter, her face still tear streaked. "Yes, of course."

He kissed her longer than usual. "I love you," he said when they'd parted.

"I love you too. But, Merlin, you can drive me crazy sometimes."

He smiled and wiped the remaining tears from her face. Then he sighed and let her go. He stared at her, still at a loss for words.

"Some did happen today," she said.

"Have you seen this?" He passed her the article.

It didn't take long for Ginny's hands to start shaking. "I knew it! I knew something was wrong. No one could look me in the face at lunch. They all just sat there and knew she was publishing this rubbish!" She crushed the paper in her grasp and paced back and forth. "They are all getting an earful tomorrow! I swear, I-" She paused as she noticed Harry staring at her. "Don't tell me there's more?"

"Draco came over earlier."

"What do you mean he came over?"

"I mean, he knocked on the door and everything. He's the one who gave me that." He gestured at the paper still in Ginny's hands. "He said Al wrote him asking if he could visit over the summer, and that if it was a cry for help he'd do everything in his power to keep him safe from me."

Ginny let out a laugh and placed the paper on the counter. "At least he cares. That's something."

Harry walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What do you want to do?"

She didn't say anything for a beat or two. "You know that saying, that it takes a village to raise a child?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we should talk with Ron and Hermione."

* * *

 Hermione tossed the Rita Skeeter article away from her in disgust. No one bothered to pick it up as it landed a few feet away from where they all sat.

"Remember when we were threatening to expose her as an unregistered animagus?" asked Harry, the only one not sitting. "Why haven't we done that? How many lives are we going to let her destroy?"

Hermione shook her head and rested against the arm of the armchair. "It only serves to punish her for being unregistered. It does nothing against the stories she's written."

"It would make me feel better," said Ron from his position on the sofa.

Harry had to agree.

"Hermione's right," said Ginny who sat next to her in an identical burgundy chair. "It's not the best method for dealing with this. Most of the people in my office know what Skeeter writes is rubbish, but it gets published anyway because it sells."

The two women exchanged a look.

"Let's talk about Albus," said Hermione. "He is the reason we're here."

"What about Malfoy?" asked Ron.

"Even if Draco's sincere," said Ginny. "Harry isn't abusing anyone. It's a non-issue."

"So Albus," said Hermione.

"Albus," Harry agreed. "He's troubled, reclusive, easily upset, and the smallest thing I say or do seems to only make it worse. He's angry all the time."

"Not all the time," said Ginny.

"When he's around me, it feels like it."

"Angry all the time?" said Ron. "Harry that sounds like you in our fifth year."

Hermione nodded. "Troubled, reclusive, easily upset."

"I don't remember that," said Ginny.

"You weren't around him all the time," said Ron.

"I was part of the DA," she said.

"Yeah, those were the good moments."

Harry stared at Ron and Hermione. "You're saying Al is me in my fifth year?"

"Not exactly," said Hermione.

"I would certainly hope not!" said Harry. "He didn't have someone murdered in front of him the year before. He didn't have the whole wizarding world thinking he was crazy."

"He didn't have to deal with Umbridge," said Ron.

"But was that really what you were upset about?" asked Hermione.

"Yes!" said Harry.

"Think about it," said Hermione. "Deep down, what was the one thing that really bothered you that everything else stemmed from?"

He resisted the urge to stare at her like she was crazy. Of course Voldemort was what had troubled him, that and everyone not believing him. But he shut his mouth and took a deep breath.

It hadn't just been Voldemort. There had been Dumbledore refusing to so much as look at him, his sessions with Snape where he'd had to continuously defend himself and his father, Umbridge's utter carelessness and cruelty. But more than that had been his classmates – people who didn't believe in what had happened, how Cedric had died, or the danger that threatened the world. And Ron and Hermione, though his best friends, couldn't truly understand how he felt. They hadn't seen what he had, at least not then.

"I felt alone," he said. "Isolated, and completely misunderstood."

"And that's Al?" asked Ginny.

Harry shook his head. "Al's not alone, he has his family. He has us, he has his siblings. And at Hogwarts, he has Scorpius, as much as I question that relationship. What does he have to be upset or misunderstood about? He has everything we didn't."

"Maybe that's the problem," said Hermione.

Ginny looked straight at her husband. "How many times have we actually asked Al what he was upset about instead of writing it off as bad behavior? How many times have we treated him as his own person with legitimate reasons for feeling as he does instead of thinking of him as just our child who we expect to act a certain way?"

The room fell silent, and Harry could see from the glances between Ron and Hermione that they were thinking about their own children.

Harry struggled with the concept. Albus was a 14 year old boy who didn't have half the cares Harry had at his age. There was no Voldemort, no dark uprising. Friends and family didn't die every passing year. There was no broken family. What more could a kid want? Albus had everything. What could possibly be missing in his life for Albus to be upset over?

"Harry," said Ginny. "We're not seeing him for him."

Harry sat on the sofa next to Ron, who shrugged.

He brought his face to his folded hands and thought. No matter which way he turned it, Albus' behavior didn't make sense. He had given Al everything he, himself, had ever wanted. But then, that had been Ginny's point, wasn't it? He wasn't thinking of Albus. He was thinking of himself. Maybe there was more, something he couldn't fathom, something Albus wanted for himself and wasn't getting.

"To Umbridge, Harry," said Hermione. "You were just a spoiled brat who needed to behave."

There were several things wrong with that analogy, and Harry had half a mind to tell her. But, she did raise a point. His thoughts toward Albus had been similar.

"So what do we do?" he asked his wife.

"We talk to him," she said. "And we listen."


	12. Heart to Heart

“That's not true!” Lily's shrill voice pierced the Gryffindor common room. “Take it back!”

Albus looked up from his solitary corner. Lily stood with her fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes were wide and shinning.

“Take it back!” she screeched at her friend who was backing away from her. “Take it back right _now!_ ” She stomped her foot and burst into sobs.

“Lily! Lily!” James pushed his way through the onlookers to his sister's side. “What's wrong?”

She buried her face in his robes. “She's a liar! Dad isn't like that!”

James turned to Lily's friend who held a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands. He tore it from her fingers.

“It's rubbish, Lil.” He told his sister. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“She said-!” Lily sobbed. “They all think…”

Albus stood from his cushion. Gryffindors turned to look at him and backed out of his way.

He usually didn't care what people thought of him. He was the outcast, the Slytherin of Gryffindor Tower, the odd Potter kid, the one who never fit in. He dealt with it, for better or worse.

But he was damned if he'd let his little sister suffer anything like it.

He strode to her side and knelt beside her. Lily let go of James' robes to throw her arms around Albus' neck.

“He didn't mean to!” she sobbed. “You know he didn't mean to!”

“I know, Lil,” he said.

She cried into his shoulder. “No one believes me.”

Albus cast his gaze around the room. The circle of space around Lily increased with every second, the room's occupants not knowing what else to do with the kids whose father beat them and were too proud or scared to say anything.

“We'll make it right,” said James, twisting the Daily Prophet into a tight spiral. “I swear to you, Lily. Somehow, we'll make it right.”

* * *

When Albus received the summons to the Headmistress' office at breakfast, he hadn't known what to expect. But he never imagined that instead of McGonagall he'd open the door to find his parents standing in front of the Headmistress' desk holding hands.

He stood staring stupidly, unable to move until his parents finally turned and noticed him.

His mother smiled and waved him in. “It's all right. You're not in trouble. Your father and I just wanted to talk to you.”

His parents sat on the short steps leading to the Headmistress' desk, their hands still together. Albus let go of the door frame and approached.

“We want to understand why you felt the need to run away,” his father said. “We'd like you to explain.”

Albus stared at him, unsure of what his father actually wanted.

“You can tell us, sweetheart,” his mother said. “We just want to listen.”

His eyes darted between the two of them. He never would have expected this. He was used to arguing, not sitting down and discussing. It was so out of the norm he found himself at a loss for words.

“Why did you run?” his father prompted.

Albus fidgeted, dropping his gaze to his feet and putting his hands in his pockets. He remembered getting out of the car at the train station and thinking how alike his siblings were to his parents.

“I didn't want to be in this family.”

He said it to his shoes in a mumble, but the words still felt like they rang through the air. He lifted his head to gaze at his parents. His father held a stony expression. He had no idea what he was thinking. His mother just looked sad.

“And why is that?” she asked.

Albus turned away from them and paced the room. He looked up at his father. “I'm not you, and I'm not James.”

His father's eyebrows came together in confusion. “No one thinks–”

“Everyone thinks!” Albus told him. “I'm Harry Potter's son. I'm James Potter's brother.” He resumed pacing. “I'm supposed to pick up a broom and be a natural, just like the two of you. I'm supposed to be lousy at Potions and excellent at Defense. I'm supposed to be a Quidditch hero, and–”

“Wait,” said his father. “That's what this is about? You think you have to prove that you're different?”

“Albus,” said his mother. “I had six brothers who came to Hogwarts before me. I know what it's like to have everyone expect something from you.”

“You were the only girl,” Albus told her. “It's was different for you. It's different for Lily.”

“When I came to Hogwarts,” his dad said. “I had no idea what stories everyone had grown up hearing about me. They all expected me to be this great hero–”

“You are a great hero,” Albus said.

“Is that what you think?”

“You don't know what it's like. Neither of you do.”

Silence fell between them until his mother spoke. “No one's stopping you from being you, Al. You can like Quidditch and be lousy at Defense. You can–”

“If I'm anything like them,” Albus told her. “I just fall into everyone's expectations of who I'm supposed to be.”

“And so what?” she said. “Being a natural on a broomstick doesn't make you James. It doesn't make you your dad.”

She waved him closer and let go of his father's hand to take both of his in hers. “You are my beautiful boy who walked across the Great Hall and sat down next to a Sytherin. Why would you ever care about what anyone else thinks of you?"

His father placed a hand on theirs. "Why would you ever let anyone stop you from being yourself?”

* * *

“Why do I hate Quidditch?” Albus asked Scorpius at lunch.

Scorpius answered without looking up from his plate. “Because it's an over-hyped sport that promotes antagonism between the Houses.”

Albus stared at him.

Scorpius looked up. “What?”

“Is that why _you_ hate Quidditch?”

“Of course." Scorpius shrugged. "I thought that's why you hated it too.”

Albus shook his head.

“Then, why do you hate it?”

“I don't know,” Albus told him. “I don't know a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like, do I actually like quiche, or do I eat it at breakfast because James hates it? Would Hogsmeade actually not be that bad if I didn't spend every second thinking about how James or my father has been there before? Is my inability to fly a broomstick due to me not wanting to be like them?”

“Wait a minute.” Scorpius folded his arms across his chest. “Are you telling me it's not just the obvious stuff like Potions, but _everything_ you do is because you don't want to be like them?”

Albus nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Scorpius ran his hands over his face. “So you're telling me… you have no idea what you like or don't like?”

Albus hesitated, then nodded again.

Scorpius cursed and shook his head. “You're going to have redo everything.”

“I don't know about _everything_ ," Albus protested.

Scorpius pointed at a bowl of figg bread pudding.

“Never tried it,” Albus admitted. “It's James' favorite.”

Scorpius cut a portion onto a plate and sat it in front of his friend.

Albus took a bite. “It's delicious.”

Scorpius cursed again.


	13. Brothers

“Al! Hey, Albus!”

Albus turned to find his brother running toward him. He stopped and waited.

James caught up, panting. “Do you actually want a spot on the team?”

“Sorry?”

“A spot on the team. Do you want it?”

Albus stared at him. “You're joking.”

Never in a million years would Albus have thought to find himself in line for quidditch tryouts.

He'd spent the past three days practicing flying alone. The boom had jumped into his hand on the first try, and he had to wonder if it would have done it in his first year if he hadn't been so angry.

He had no idea if he was a natural like his father or James. He'd spent an evening in the library reading everything he could find on flying, such as proper hand placement and how to shift his weight to direct turns. So he wasn't certain if his success was instinctive or research influenced.

He wasn't as smooth as he should have been for someone of his year – he'd nearly crashed into the castle walls a few times, and his dismounts needed work. But for someone who had never flown before? He did far better than he'd expected.

Quidditch, however, was a different matter entirely.

One didn't just have to fly but keep an eye on the quaffle, block goal posts, dodge bludgers, and watch out for or engage with the other players. He was more than half convinced he'd walk away from tryouts a laughing stock of the entire team.

But he'd promised himself he'd try new things.

He'd done his best to ignore the whispers of the other Gryffindors who wondered what he was doing there and whether he was a plant sent by Slytherin to sabotage the team.

He'd reminded himself it wasn't about what other people thought of him. It was about deciding what he wanted, whether or not he actually cared for flying or quidditch.

So, when his trial was over, he'd landed, dismounted (still somewhat ungracefully) and walked off the pitch. He'd never expected to find his brother chasing after him.

“You didn't do half bad,” James explained, grinning from ear to ear. “And Coach thinks with a little training, if you're anything like dad or me…”

Albus bristled at the comparison and the thought that his brother was playing nice just because they suddenly had something in common. “I'm not really interested, no.”

“Oh.” James' face fell. “Of course, I mean… you've never really been one for quidditch, have you? I thought…”

An awkward silence fell between them.

James rubbed the back of his head. “Well… see you around, I guess.”

He turned around and left.

* * *

“You hate quidditch.”

“So?” said Scorpius. “Doesn't mean I can't keep my best friend company while he's trying to decide his thoughts on it.”

They sat in the Hufflepuff section.

The match was Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw, and Albus wasn't about to sit with his housemates and put up with them cursing his appearance like a bad luck charm. The Slytherin seating area was almost devoid of students, though still an area where Albus might attract trouble. The stands were otherwise awash in colors of red and blue, even among the Hufflepuffs, who seemed like the most welcoming crowd.

Albus thought it curious such a large amount of Hufflepuff students had turned out for the game even though their team wasn't playing. A redheaded boy had extra Ravenclaw and Gryffindor flags and offered to share.

Albus declined. Scorpius took one of each.

The players walked onto the pitch. Albus spotted his brother among them, identifiable from his untidy black hair.

“Go, Gryffindor!” Scorpius shouted, waving the red flag.

“You're in Slytherin!” Albus hissed.

“Should we not be rooting for your house?” Scorpius asked.

Albus sighed, took flag from his friend, and waved it. “This is silly.”

Scorpius shrugged. “You wanted to try new things.”

The players mounted their brooms, and the quaffle was thrown into the air.

Albus thought he might feel some form of elation or excitement as the game took off, but he only watched with mild interest. The quidditch pitch was so large and the players sped by with such speed, the game was nearly impossible to follow without the aid of the announcer. And that seemed odd to him. Why watch a game you couldn't actually see?

Ravenclaw scored and the crowd roared.

“Go Ravenclaw!” shouted Scorpius, blue flag waving in the air.

“Whose side are you on?” asked Albus.

Scorpius shrugged. “It's not like I care who wins… and you took my flag.”

* * *

“I can't believe you went to the game and didn't sit next to me!” Lily moaned.

Any hope Albus held his housemates hadn't noticed he'd gone to the match were destroyed. Several heads turned, glaring in his direction. Gryffindor had in fact lost, by a small margin, but still.

“Should have known Stinky Slytherin–” someone muttered.

“Cut it out!” James scolded the speaker as he approached Albus. He was grinning again. “Is it true? Did you actually go?”

“He sat with the Hufflepuffs!” said Lily, in a can-you-believe-this-is-our-brother kind of tone. “I want to sit next to you, Albus. We're a family. You can bring Scorpius. I'd like to meet him anyway.”

“I don't know if–” Albus started.

“Promise you'll sit with me next time?” she urged.

“Okay,” he said. “But I don't know if–”

She hugged him around the middle and ran off.

Albus sighed.

James stepped closer, his smile a little faded. “Do you think you'll come again?”

“I don't know,” Albus said honestly. His new experiences with flying and quidditch taught him that he felt indifferent. But he didn't know if that indifference represented his true feelings or if it still stemmed from his conflict with his father and brother. Separating the two was going to be more difficult than he thought.

“I'm trying new things,” he admitted. “I'm not sure how I feel about them yet.” 

“That's good,” said James. “Good for you, I mean. Getting out there a little.”

Silence fell between them again.

James sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Look, I know you and I haven't been… I mean… you're kind of weird.”

"You are as expected," Albus told him.

“Er…” James hesitated. “Yeah, I guess. Whatever. Look… Lily said something the other day… about how it would be nice if she could spend time with both her brothers instead of just one of at a time.”

“Oh,” said Albus. He'd never considered how his relationship with James might affect his younger sister.

“And I guess,” James shrugged. “If there was something you and I had in common… that we could do together…”

Albus didn't have any ideas.

It didn't seem James had any either.

“Right,” James said when silence stretched between them once again.

* * *

Albus had no idea what he and James might have in common.

He played gobstones with Lily during the summer, only because she liked it and needed someone to play with when they weren't at school. And he supposed James might be coerced into it, but Albus cared so little for the game he rather disliked the idea of making it a family event.

He and Scorpius played chess, but he doubted James would have much interest in it if their father's attitude toward the game was any indication.

A lot of Albus' free time involved hanging out with Scorpius or finding solitary spaces where no one would bother him, neither of which would be the same adding James to the equation.

Sitting in his four-poster, with his arms around his knees and the bed curtains drawn around him, he realized he had no idea what his brother liked to do. Quidditch was obvious, but beyond that…

Did his brother ever sit like him on his bed? Did he leave the curtains open just a crack to see the moon outside the tower window? Did he stay up at night thinking? Did he feel, wide awake while the others sleep, that the whole of the world remained open to him? That out there somewhere, there was something waiting for him?

Silly things, but still…

Could they be staring at the moon right now at the same time and not know it?

Once the idea was in his head he found it hard to banish.

It wouldn't take much effort to leave his room and check James' dormitory.

He was on his way up the stairs to do just that, his hand reaching for the door latch, when the door opened of it's own accord.

Albus remained standing on the landing, staring at the empty doorway in front of him.

He did not move.

The door, seemingly of it's own accord, swung toward him slowly until it closed again.

Albus hesitated and opened the door carefully. He stepped inside the room, shut the door behind him, then flattened himself against it. From the snores coming from the beds, it would seem the room's occupants were fast asleep.

He cast his gaze around the room, making sure he hadn't missed anything. Then he checked the beds until he found one with no occupant.

He turned around, surveying the room again. “James?”

His brother's head appeared out of thin air, and Albus jumped back, tripping over himself and falling to the floor.

The snoring from one of the bed's stopped, then resumed again.

James' floating a head put a finger to it's lips and pointed at the door.

Albus walked outside. Even when the door closed behind them, his brother didn't remove the invisibility cloak. His head continued to float in mid air.

“What are you doing?” James whispered.

“I came to see you. What are you doing?”

“What does it look I'm–?” James stopped, his face going lax and his eyes widening as though he'd just been struck by an idea.

“What?” asked Albus.

His brother grinned. “Do you want to come see?”


	14. A Night Out

With his limited socializing, low class participation, and barely passing grades, Albus knew he wasn't a model student. Still, to his knowledge (and he had checked), he had never broken any written rule at Hogwarts.

Until tonight.

Slipping under the invisibility cloak was like wearing a feather-light sheet of water. The air underneath wasn't warm or stuffy as one might experience under a blanket. The fabric shimmered as it rustled, and there seemed to be a great deal more of it than Albus had assumed. Neither he nor James were in danger of having their ankles exposed as they walked, and they didn't even have to crowd together.

Albus had to think hard about the last time he’d spent quality time with his older brother, and he was surprised. It couldn't have been before Lily was born, could it? Surely, that was wrong, and the only reason he couldn't place his sister was simply because he’d been playing with James and not her. Still, he knew it had been years.

As young children, he and his brother used to play Dumbledore vs Grindlewald (with James often as Dumbledore). They’d cast “curses” on each other with their training wands, sputtering and squirming as if the “spells” were real, rather than soft bursts of light. Albus couldn't help but smile at the memories.

Hanging out with his brother again was… odd. He didn't know how to spend time with an older version of James. But part of him didn't mind the attempt. He'd missed this, even if he didn't want to admit it.

James had clearly wandered around the castle at night many times before. He was an expert on the movements of the prefects. He knew every shortcut and secret passageway. He looked back at his younger brother with a mischievous grin before revealing each one.

Albus was enthused. He’d never known there were tapestries that hid corridors, portraits that led to rooms other than the Gryffindor commons, or statues that revealed secrets when the proper appendage was pressed. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him. That was the gift his father had tried to give him… before he’d torn the map into pieces.

Had it included secret passages? Or other secrets that perhaps his brother hadn’t found? It would have been nice to repay his brother's marvels with some of his own. He’d never know now.

James threw out his arm in the middle of Albus thoughts.

“What the-?” Albus looked around and nearly laughed. “You’re afraid of a cat?”

Mrs. Norris bared her fangs with a hiss.

“Can she see us?” Albus asked in the softest whisper he could manage.

“She certainly acts like she can,” James whispered back.

Mrs. Norris’ yellow eyes glared at them both, as though daring them to move.

Albus looked to his brother. James pointed to the corridor to their right, and they shuffled their feet in that direction. Mrs. Norris’ lamp like eyes followed them until they were out of view, where the brothers let out a unified breath of air.

“Come on,” James said. “I haven't shown you the best part.”

His brother led them down a flight of stairs that led to a brightly lit corridor with colorful portraits of food.

“Why…?” Albus wondered aloud.

James pulled the cloak off them both and flashed his brother another grin before stepping over to a portrait of a bowl of fruit. He tickled the pear, which giggled and swelled into a large green door handle. James pulled it open.

Albus had never given a single thought toward the Hogwarts kitchens, never realized how many pots and pans it would take to feed so many students three times a day, never considered the magic required to make food appear on the tables. He had never realized Hogwarts employed house elves - had never seen one - until now.

There had to be at least a hundred of them, gathering around them, bowing and curtseying, inquiring if they wanted anything. James ordered butterbeer, and Albus asked for some fig cakes. They headed for the fireplace just as a redheaded boy - the same one Albus had seen at the Quidditch match - got up to leave. He waved at them as he headed toward the door.

“Hufflepuffs,” James said. “They’re in here all the time. Their common room has to be close by, but I haven’t been able to find it.”

They sat on the stools by the fireplace, smiling at each other.

“I didn’t know you liked figgs,” said James as a house elf delivered a tray of cakes, and Albus took a large bite of one.

“I didn’t either,” Albus said, his mouth still full.

James chuckled and sipped his beer.

Silence fell between them once more, comfortable at first. But eventually they both realized they still didn’t know how to talk to each other.

James sighed and moved to sit his empty mug on the floor. Another house elf appeared and scooped it up before he could.

“Look, Al,” he said, staring after the elf. “I know we still have a long way to go…” He turned his head to look Albus in the eyes. “I’ve been thinking about Rita Skeeter’s article. And I have to ask… Do you remember dad saying she’d never written a truthful article, except one?”

Albus had forgotten, but he nodded. “Now that you say it, yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some research in the library,” James continued. “And I found the article, the truthful one, I mean. It was an interview with dad.”

Albus’ eyes widened. “You’re joking!”

James shook his head. “Somehow dad got Skeeter to report the truth, and that means we can too. But you, me, and Lily, we have to appear untied. We have to act like a family.”

Albus understood. “I don’t hate you, James,” he said to his knees. “And I-” He raised his head. “I’m sorry I punched you.” He wasn’t sure he meant it fully, but he had to admit to himself that it seemed rather silly now.

“So…” said James, eagerness filling his face. “Do you think we could do it? That we could talk with Skeeter without a hitch?”

Albus shook his head. “Dad would never agree to it.”

“I know,” James said. “I wasn’t planning on telling him.”


	15. News Story

Harry was furious. "My own children!" He shook  _The Daily Prophet_ at Hermione. "How could you?"

Hermione stood behind her desk, looking back at him calmly. "Harry, I know you're upset-"

" _Upset?!_  You went behind my back!"

Hermione crossed her arms, still refusing to raise her voice. "Yes, Harry, I did. And do you know why?"

He hesitated.

"Because your own children felt they couldn't come to you. They  _begged_  me not to tell you or Ginny. They were so certain you'd shut the whole thing down."

"Well, I would have!" Harry agreed.

"Your children are afraid of coming to you with their problems. Doesn't that worry you?"

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He staggered back. "All I've ever tried to do…"

"Is protect them, I know." Hermione looked down at her desk and shook her head sadly. "And working these jobs, we see the worst of the world everyday. It can be hard to leave that behind when we go home."

She sighed and returned her gaze to him. "But being a parent is about more than protecting. It's about raising our children to think for themselves. And that's what they did. And they were  _brilliant_ , Harry, absolutely brilliant. You should be so proud." Her eyes glistened.

Harry clenched  _The Daily Prophet_ tighter, but all the fight had drained from him. "You still should have told me."

Hermione nodded. "I should have, you and Ginny. But I didn't want to pit you against each other. And in the end, this was their choice. If you'd shut it down, I'd have gone behind your back regardless. This way just involved less drama. Goodness knows I don't need more of it."

Harry didn't get the chance to ask if she was okay.

"Did you read the article?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"You should."

He walked back to his office in a haze of mixed emotions. He laid the newspaper on his desk and smoothed out the wrinkles. His three children smiled back him.

_Potter Children Tell All:_

_What it's like growing up in the most famous Wizarding family_

_By Rita Skeeter_

That was as far as Harry had read before barging into Hermione's office. His children knew better than to go to Rita Skeeter. He'd ranted of her work in front of them on more than one occasion. If they'd gone to her, then they must have found a way to make her tell the truth. And the only person who'd successfully blackmailed her before was Hermione.

He'd fought so hard to keep them out of the limelight. He and Ginny had used distortion charms to keep the media from taking their picture. They had refused any interview. Their births had been private with trusted Healers who wouldn't sell a snapshot. Even their house had magical protections to keep prying eyes and cameras at bay.

And now this.

The article spanned twelve pages, and contained photos of his children laughing and smiling at Hogwarts. Harry had tears in his eyes as he read his children recounting their favorite memories, family outings, and holiday traditions. They told Rita of their favorite class subjects and hobbies. And she asked them about their relationships with each other.

> " _I mean, Albus and I, we butt heads." James grins and ruffles his younger brother's hair._
> 
> " _Hey!" Albus glares, hands on his head._
> 
> " _But were cool."_
> 
> " _Yeah." Albus, straightening his hair, smiles under his glaring eyes. "We're cool."_
> 
> _**And what about you, Lily?** _
> 
> " _Oh, I love both my brothers!"_
> 
> _The boys smile at their sister._
> 
> " _Lily never causes any problems." James beams._
> 
> _**While we're on the topic of tensions. There was a reported incident, Albus, with your father at the beginning of term. Would you care to elaborate?** _
> 
> _Albus Potter falls into a thoughtful silence. "I was… upset."_
> 
> " _I pushed his buttons." James turns to his brother with an apologetic smile. "I_ really  _pushed his buttons."_
> 
> " _I thought I wanted to run away," Albus continues. "I did some stupid things. When dad found me, I wasn't ready to come home. I yelled, and yeah, he hit me. It never happened before or since. I think he was just as surprised as I was."_
> 
> _**Why do think your father hit you?** _
> 
> " _I don't know. I…" Albus shakes his head. "I don't know."_
> 
> _**You must have some thought.** _
> 
> " _Dad would never intentionally hurt any of us." James speaks up. "It was an accident."_
> 
> " _He didn't mean it," Lily peeps._

Harry couldn't read the rest. He leaned back in his chair. All their lives he'd fought to protect his children. Now they were the ones protecting him. And it felt wrong, like he'd failed.

There was a knock on his door, and Harry looked up to find Draco Malfoy entering his office. He held a copy of  _The Daily Prophet_  in his hand. "It seems, I owe you an apology."

Harry sighed. "No, Draco, you don't." He stood and straightened his robes. He found it difficult to look the man on the other side of the room in the eye. "I hit my son. You reacted how anyone would. I…" He raised his gaze then. "I'm actually grateful you care that much."

"Well…" It was Draco's turn to drop his gaze.

"But I don't understand why."

"Scorpius talks about Albus like a brother," Draco said simply. "I'd do anything to protect that."

"Why?" Harry asked again.

Draco scoffed. "You don't know how lucky you are, do you?" He stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him. "You and Weasley and Granger - you're like siblings more than friends. They'd die for you. Do you have idea how rare that is?"

"I guess I…" Harry hadn't thought about it in a long time. "I do know actually."

"Yeah, well." Draco looked at the floor and ran a hand through his hair.

"But if that's how you feel," Harry said. "Why have you never let Albus or Scorpius visit?"

"It was Astoria. She was sick."

Harry waited for him to continue.

Draco sighed and crossed the room where he tossed his copy of  _The Daily Prophet_ onto Harry's desk and grabbed the back of the chair in front of it. He pulled it out farther than a visitor normally would before sitting down. He sat with his hands on his knees.

"At first, it didn't really seem like anything was wrong. Our family outings just tired her a little more than usual." He didn't look at Harry, but at his desk, as though it held great interest. "But then it got worse. We took less and less outings until they stopped all together. She stopped leaving the house, and then she stopped using the stairs. Eventually, she couldn't leave her bed."

"I'm sorry," said Harry.

Draco shook his head. "I didn't let Albus visit because visitors made her worse. And maybe I should have let Scorpius leave. Astoria could have… she would have…"

Draco's face twisted with grief, and Harry turned his face away to give him some privacy.

"Astoria would have wanted him to spend time with friends. She would have insisted I let him go, but he never said anything. I think he knew we had limited time. I just wanted him to have every second possible with his mother."

Draco sighed and leaned back in the chair. "I could have let them visit last summer. But Astoria passed so suddenly right before term… Scorpius and I never got to grieve together, and I thought… well, I don't know what I thought."

Apparently, he was done because he stood and headed for the door. "Albus is welcome to visit next summer."

"Draco."

He turned around, and Harry wasn't sure why he had called out.

He fumbled for words. "Would you be interested in… having dinner… with Ginny and me… Friday night?"

Draco's eyes widen, and Harry wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"I'd… like that."

The two men stared at each other.

"Right," said Harry. "See you then."

"Right," said Draco. He hesitated, and then he turned around and left.

Harry stared at the door, half convinced Draco had never walked through it, that their conversation had never happened. That is, until he sat at his desk and found Draco's copy of  _The Daily Prophet_ on top of his.


End file.
